


For I Have Loved, In Many Different Words

by jumpstarts



Category: DBSK | Tohoshinki | TVfXQ | TVXQ
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, M/M, Misunderstanding, That Leads to Pining (TM)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:40:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21874570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jumpstarts/pseuds/jumpstarts
Summary: Changmin stares at the tables and charts and his mind conjures up pen strokes, words to describe perfect first loves and summer kisses.
Relationships: Jung Yunho/Shim Changmin
Comments: 8
Kudos: 58
Collections: Ho Ho Homin: The Yunho/Changmin Holiday Fic Exchange 2019





	For I Have Loved, In Many Different Words

**Author's Note:**

  * For [oneatatime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/oneatatime/gifts).



> hello!! 
> 
> tbh i saw pining in the request and kinda....... ran away with it. :D i hope that your holidays are amazing and that you’re going to have one heck of a good time! and i hope you’ll enjoy this too! cheers!

.

**MONDAY**

Changmin writes notes on post-its, pieces of lyrics and secrets in firm strokes and leaves them in library books. He slips them between pages, some yellowing and creased beyond repair, some crisp and smell like chemicals but he doesn’t run out of books and words and that keeps him going for days, months. The librarian, a sweet middle-aged woman with constantly bruised wrists, looks up from her paperback for the day and smiles when he nods at her on his way in.

Sometimes, he writes notes about her. Those books in True Crimes remain unopened.

Polished floor swallows the sound of his footsteps and Changmin picks his way through the scratches of pen against paper and heads bent in focus. There’s a corner in the library that Changmin calls his, quiet and secluded. It’s tucked away between shelves of Natural History and Medieval Torture, with a window that opens to the school courtyard and if he tries hard enough, he can hear faint music from the practice rooms. Changmin pauses and blinks when he realises that the table, _his_ corner is already occupied.

The other boy seems deep in concentration, dark hair smoothing over pale skin and a pair of round glasses perched on his nose. His lips are wrapped around the butt of a pencil, fingers skimming the pages of an open book in front of him – _The Tale of Seven Cities_ , Changmin notices. And remembers a note about heartbreaks and hopes. It feels like only seconds but the boy suddenly tilts his head and raises his eyebrows, eyes large behind thick frames. His smile is almost blinding.

“It’s rude to stare, you know.”

“Ah,” Changmin ducks his head into an apologetic bow and returns the smile, doesn’t know whether to move along or stay. He shrugs. “You’re sitting in my usual place. I’ll just— go.”

The boy’s smile widens. “Come and sit with me.”

Changmin stops, already half-turned away. “What?”

“It’s my fault for stealing your place.” There’s hand gestures involved, but Changmin can’t really drag his eyes away from the smile. “Or I can just switch to another place, if you want to?”

“I—It’s okay!” Changmin claps a hand over his mouth after the outburst, looks around guiltily before he shuffles to a chair across the table. “Um, thanks.”

He receives a nod in return, silence once again stretching between them. It feels a bit weird, sharing something he considers private but Changmin drags out his Chemistry textbook and notes and pretends he doesn’t care. His fingers hover over the post-its in the depth of his bag and his eyes flicker to the other boy, before deciding that maybe he’ll wait until he’s alone to write his notes. Changmin stares at tables and charts and his mind conjures up pen strokes, words to describe perfect first loves and summer kisses.

“Yunho.”

Changmin jerks his head up, surprised. The spiral of words halts to a stop inside his head. “Excuse me?”

“I’m Jung Yunho.”

It takes Changmin three seconds before his brain catches up to the unspoken question. “Shim Changmin, nice to meet you.”

Yunho nods slowly, eyes thoughtful, and Changmin wants to say _how come I’ve never seen you before_ , wants to know what Yunho thinks about. Changmin ducks his head instead and tries to fight the red creeping over his cheeks because he isn’t five, no longer giving lollipops to girls with pigtails and shying away when they tried to talk to him. A clock ticks somewhere in the library, rustles of papers between quiet footsteps and it’s the kind of deep-seated comfort that seeps right under the skin, into the bones.

Until upbeat music drifts in between silences and Changmin looks up. His eyes collide with Yunho’s, prompting that effervescent smile to blossom once again. Yunho collects his books, the school blazer draped over his chair and a backpack, before he nods at Changmin.

“I’ll see you around.”

Changmin wonders if the library is silent enough to hear the rapid beats of his heart. “Sure.”

Hours drag on in the map of routines and Changmin is safely curled under the safety of blankets, in the privacy of his room when he realises that he hasn’t written a single note, too preoccupied counting footsteps until Yunho disappeared behind a bookshelf and trying to etch a smile to the back of his mind. He finds a scrap of paper on his work table and after a second of deliberation, writes

‘ _will you smile as brightly  
_ _if we meet in another reality?_ ’

and stares at the shaky scrawl until he hears his parents going to bed. Changmin carefully folds the paper and slips it between page 264 and page 265 of _Heartbreak City_ , fingers trailing the worn spine of the book. It’s his favourite, printed words smudged after an eternity of being thumbed through.

Changmin sleeps with irony singing lullabies inside his head.

.

**TUESDAY**

The cafeteria buzzes with loud conversations and stilted laughter, bouncing off brightly-painted walls in a cacophony of noises. Changmin navigates around a group of giggling girls, his lukewarm soup balanced precariously on the plastic tray as he tries to ignore the amount of eyelashes that are being fluttered his way. There’s never enough tables, never enough space and Changmin sighs in relief when he sees Siwon’s distinctive head poking out from the crowd.

Siwon pats Changmin’s shoulder when he sits next to the older boy. Kyuhyun doesn’t even look up from whatever he’s reading. “Took you long enough.”

“The line went on forever,” Changmin mutters as he dips a spoon into the soup, isn’t really sorry when he sounds cross. He’s running on too-little sleep and the fading hope of seeing Yunho again. The library feels strangely empty that day. He frowns at the odd-looking wraps in front of Siwon. They’re green. And brown. And look so far from appetising that they’re just forlornly sitting there, untouched. “What the hell are those?”

“No idea. Jiwon’s going on this new diet so the entire family’s pitching in. Moral support.” Siwon wrinkles his nose and jerks his chin at Changmin’s ham and cheese sandwich. “You gonna eat that?”

Changmin pulls the tray closer to him. “I’m a growing boy; I need all the help I can get.”

“You’re about the size of a baby giraffe, Chwang. Stop growing already,” Kyuhyun says, matter-of-factly. He reaches out to pluck a cherry tomato from Siwon’s bowl of salad. “Minho told me to remind you about going to his football match this evening. Said you didn’t reply to his text.”

“That’s today?” He must’ve missed the message — he’s had too many things ( _one, just one_ ) in his mind for the past twenty-four hours. “I don't know, man. I haven't started on that book report and it's due tomorrow."

" _Dude._ "

“Got space for one more?”

Changmin has to duck as Siwon flings out his hand in a faux welcoming gesture, nearly hitting him in the head. “Look who decided to ditch the girls to join us today.”

“Jealousy’s an ugly colour on you, young master.” Heechul tosses his head back and grins at them. “I thought it’d be nice to see how the peasants are doing.”

”Humble,” Siwon deadpans. But his mouth’s quirked into a smile and he scoots to the side to allow Heechul to get into the chair next to him. “At least bring some of the girls along. I could use a pretty face right now.”

Heechul’s answering wink is downright dirty and he sidles closer to Siwon. “I still have that wig from the last time, y’know.”

Siwon’s face contorts, expression shifting from pained to traumatised to nauseous in five seconds flat. Changmin subtly protects his soup with his elbows at the slight possibly that Siwon might pounce on Heechul in retaliation but as the friendly banter subsides into mischievous grins and half-hearted threats of disembowelment, he relaxes enough to pay attention to the conversation between Siwon and Heechul.

“—and he’s an awesome dancer.” Heechul ends the statement with a grin and a sweeping glance that arches from Siwon to Changmin. “He has a class meeting or something but he says he’s coming soon.”

Siwon raises an eyebrow, a lop-sided smile slapped across his face. “Sounds like you have a crush on him.”

“Play nice, Siwon, or I’m telling everyone about that time you tried to kiss me.”

Siwon sputters and Heechul’s laughter echoes long and loud, inviting a mix of curious and annoyed glances that he easily ignores. Changmin hides his grin behind another spoonful of soup and blinks at Heechul. “Who’s an awesome dancer?”

“I’ve known him forever and I’ll introduce— that’s him!” Heechul jumps to his feet and starts waving wildly. “Hey, Yunrobbong! Over here!”

Changmin chokes on his soup.

Yunho walks up to them, his hair slightly mussed and his smile as wide as Changmin remembers. Heechul slings an arm around Yunho’s shoulder, pulls him into a tight hug that seems to linger for a touch too long in Changmin’s mind. The cafeteria dims in the background, white noise in his ears as he notices the smallest details — that matching grins, the casual touches and the easy familiarity between Heechul and Yunho.

The conclusion comes sharp and inevitable.

“Guys, this is Yunho,” Heechul announces, his arm a permanent fixture over Yunho’s shoulder as he starts pointing at them, “That guy with the politician haircut is Siwon, that’s Kyuhyun and the tall one’s Changmin.”

Changmin feels Yunho’s stare sweep over him as Siwon valiantly tries to defend his choice of haircut, sparks of recognition in those eyes. “You’re the guy from the library!”

“Yea—”

“You’ve met Changmin before?” Heechul interjects, his voice laced with curiosity and some kind of wonder. “At the _library_? Since when do you read?”

“All the time,” Yunho huffs, switches his attention to Changmin. He looks earnestly serious when he adds, “I read a lot.”

Yunho’s already starting to pout and Heechul jumps at that, poking at him to elicit giggles that turn into laughter, and Changmin laughs along because it’s easy to hide the disappointment tugging at his heartstring. He doesn’t say much as the conversation around him carries on, but he feels the brunt of Yunho’s stares every now and then. Those quick moments sit warm at the pit of his stomach and he makes sure to avoid Yunho’s eyes. It feels safe. Disappointing, but _safe_.

Changmin says _goodbye_ and waves dutifully when Heechul declares that he and Yunho have important, unfinished business to attend to. He doesn’t realise he’s staring at Yunho’s empty chair until Siwon waves a hand in front of his face.

“I’ve never seen him before.”

“Who? Yunho?”

Changmin shifts uneasily, wonders if he shouldn’t have asked. His palms are sweaty where they rest over his thighs but he meets Siwon’s eyes without flinching. “Yeah. Seems like a nice guy.”

“He’s been around forever. In Heechul’s class, I think.” Siwon takes a sip from his coffee. “Why are you asking?”

Changmin hides desperately behind another unaffected shrug. He avoids the lingering glances from girls around their table, sips his too-sweet coffee and doesn’t complain. “Just curious.”

The slant of Kyuhyun’s grin is enough to tell Changmin he isn’t fooling anyone. “You know, I heard the Music Club has a lot of interesting members. I bet you can ask Heechul all about it.”

The hint is more than obvious and Changmin pretends to not understand in favour of convincing himself that he’s too late.

.

**WEDNESDAY**

The music room is decked in dying sunlight and shadows, shards of dim gold lance through the gaps in the curtains as Changmin carefully closes the door behind him. The straps of his bag dig into his shoulder, as if in reprimand and he shrugs off his backpack near the entrance. Changmin doesn’t really know what he’s doing. What he wants to do but he hears the silence, punctuated by the sound of his breathing and his heart drags with the weight of chance meetings. He finds a keyboard, encased in plastic cover. A collection of guitars sit upright and vigilant at the back of the room. The blocky shape of the amplifiers stacked meticulously away. 

Everything in their own special places and Changmin doesn’t belong, not really.

He trails to a shelf of music books and scrapbooks of scores, easily picks out famous composers among other foreign names and he tries to recall concertos his mother used to play for him every Sunday. It feels like a lifetime ago, memories yellowing faster than papers. Changmin slides out a book clasped between tattered scrapbooks and it reads _La Música_ in a splash of red over white cover, words that taste weird around his tongue. But Changmin knows it’s _music_ and he imagines Yunho singing in a stage of lights and mirrors, lips spilling languages Changmin doesn’t know but understands deep, deep in his heart.

Changmin grabs his backpack and finds the post-its, mostly instinctive by then.

‘ _i’ll write you a symphony  
_ _of hearts under lock and key._ ’

He rubs a thumb over the small square of paper, opens to a page with paragraphs upon paragraphs of sprawling abstracts. Changmin nearly drops the book when he hears the door creaks open, the sound made louder by the silence.

“Is someone he—” Yunho pauses when he sees Changmin and tilts his head to a side. “Oh. It’s you.”

The book feels heavy in Changmin’s hands and it squeezes into its original place without much resistance, the evidence of his guilt safely tucked away. “Hyung.”

“What’re you doing here?” The door clicks behind Yunho and sunlight sweeps over the gentle, sloping curve of his face and neck as he walks across the room, steady _step step step_ s towards Changmin. “I didn’t know you’re in the club too.”

“Uh. I’m not.” At the flicker of confusion in Yunho’s eyes, Changmin hastily adds, “But I’m thinking of joining. So, I’m just… checking this place out.”

It takes a second and Yunho finally shrugs, easy acceptance in the curl of his smile. “Since you’re here, maybe you can help me practise.”

He pulls out one of the scrapbooks on the shelf, smooths fingers over its thick cover and gestures for Changmin to follow him. They sit with their backs against the wall, thighs pressed close and heads bent together as Yunho flips through the bound pages. It’s quietly intimate, feels as if they’re sharing a secret and Changmin’s heart stutters and skips when Yunho rests a hand on his forearm.

“I usually dance, but I’ve always wanted to try something new. Don’t think I got the song right, though.” His smile is self-deprecating, an echo of the bright sunshine it once held. The lyrics are handwritten, neat rows of black ink and Changmin sees the way Yunho’s eyes soften as he places the scrapbook over their thighs. His voice is warm, his smile warmer when he asks, “Sing with me?”

The song isn’t even a duet. Changmin can’t understand when he starts forgetting simple things. Like how to say no.

Like how to breathe.

The streets are dark by the time they part in front of the school gate, Yunho cementing their farewell with another smile (not just his lips, always with his eyes) and a wave of his hand. Changmin waits until Yunho disappears around a bend at the end of the road and he doesn’t have an excuse when he arrives home seconds away from dinnertime. His father asks if he’s had an extra class and how his studies are going. He mumbles something that’s vaguely coherent and gets an odd look in return. He’s rescued by his sisters’ demand for food and spends the entirety of dinner distracted by the phantom weight of Yunho‘s hand on his skin.

He stays awake too late into the night, remembers the twine of his voice with Yunho’s, smooth melodies between spun words.

He doesn’t know if this is love, but it’s strange and terrifying.

( _And thus i_ _t must be so._ )

.

**THURSDAY**

It’s Arts for last period and Changmin is sketching an outline of a gilded cage when it begins raining, persistent staccato beats against glass windows. The teacher mutters something unflattering under her breath and around him, people are packing their supplies away. He takes notes of the homework, slides his sketchbook into the collection of text books and unfinished confessions inside his bag with a heavy heart and a mind too distracted to function properly.

“It’s raining.”

Changmin mutters ‘ _thanks, Captain Obvious_ ’ under his breath, dry words in contrast to what he feels at that moment. He wraps his arms tighter around his school bag, grimaces at the puddle of water soaking up into his shoes.

“Are you always this grumpy?” Someone brushes past him and Changmin steps aside, halfway into a frown when he realises that he recognises those round glasses and smiling lips. “You’re much nicer the first time we met.”

“Y-Yunho-hyung!”

Yunho’s smile spreads wider, crinkles his eyes into tiny crescents. “Hey!”

His uniform is mostly unbuttoned, the gap revealing a black wifebeater and the accentuated lines of his collarbone. Changmin looks away and inches closer to the wall, makes some room for Yunho to stand next to him and they spend the next few minutes appreciating the unrelenting wall of water before them. It’s Changmin who first breaks underneath the strain of their silence and he glances at Yunho out of the corner of his eye. “Why are you still here, hyung?”

“Forgot my umbrella,” and Yunho laughs at himself, at everything with the generosity Changmin can maybe admire. “I guess we’re stuck together for now.”

“Ah... I guess so.”

“So.” The hallway feels too full to Changmin, even with just the two of them because Yunho is suddenly too close. Too personal. “Have you decided?”

“What?”

“If you’re joining the Music Club or not.” Yunho digs an elbow into Changmin’s side and it isn’t as painful as the ache in his heart. He flinches further, doesn’t miss the puzzled flash in Yunho’s eyes. “You should. You have a nice voice, Changmin.”

“I-I’m still thinking about it,” Changmin replies and rubs a hand over the prickles of goose bumps along his arm. The compliment catches him off guard, echoes in his head in endless whispers and he likes the way Yunho says his name. “Thanks, hyung. But you really don’t need to say that.”

“It's true. I like your voice,” Yunho says, slow and quiet (like the deliberate curve of his smiles, Changmin notices) and his words are almost swallowed by distant rumbles of thunder. Changmin breathes and breathes and Yunho’s fingers flutter against his. “We should sing together. Again.”

It sounds like an invitation and Changmin maybe understands, maybe reads too much into lines that might mean nothing. He stiffens and moves his hand away.

Yunho’s smile seems to flicker and dim, like a fire doused with water.

In the end, that's all it takes for Changmin's self-restraint to shatter. It’s easy to bridge the distance, to raise his hand and place it against Yunho’s neck in a tentative, wondering gesture designed to _feel_ and nothing else. It’s even easier to run his thumb over the map of veins underneath smooth skin, especially when Yunho closes his eyes and sighs _just like that_. Yunho’s hands rest on Changmin’s hip, loose enough to let Changmin know that he can back off if he wants to.

Which is what Changmin does when he remembers that Yunho already belongs to another, that stab of guilt lancing straight through his chest.

He jerks violently away, enough to catch the surprise on Yunho’s face ( _why are you doing this to me, hyung?_ he wants to ask and scream) and his heart lurches at the broken moment. It could’ve been brilliant, could’ve been something more. Much, much more. (He can’t, he won’t). He mutters a quick ‘ _sorry_ ’ and walks (runs, runs as fast as he can) home through the downpour. Changmin blinks more than raindrops from his eyes when he sits in the comforting confines of his bathroom, face pressed against his clammy hands.

His post-its are nothing more than colourful pulps in his bag. Useless.

Useless, useless, _useless_.

.

**FRIDAY**

_do you remember that song?_ the text goes, screen flashing bright and it’s four in the morning.

Changmin curls deeper into his blankets, squints in the dark to read the tiny words. He replies after five minutes because he doesn’t really know what to say. _yes._

The next text comes exactly thirty seven seconds later. _i’m performing today. you coming?_

 _cant’t, i’m sorry_ , he maps out the words one at a time, blinks when his vision starts to get a bit blurry. He coughs around the uncomfortable itch at the back of his throat. _i’m kinda sick._

Changmin nearly falls asleep when his phone vibrates against his chest, forty five minutes after his last text.

_i’m sorry._

_i’m sorry too,_ he taps but doesn’t press send, because he thinks he’s saying sorry for all the wrong reasons. Changmin remembers Heechul’s carefree grin, an arm around Yunho’s shoulder and it’s a picture sharp and cutting. It’s too late. He hits clear and sends a _good luck_ instead.

Changmin wakes up hours later and finds a music file sitting in his inbox. He swallows his pills and stares at the blinking notification, doesn’t click it open until his eyes ache and water. It starts with stifled screams and low hum of voices, announcing names the recording didn’t quite catch. The music is familiar and Changmin closes his eyes as Yunho’s voice rises between notes, can almost see the silhouettes of musical instruments in a small room in another street. He sings along because he knows all the right words, knows the feel of Yunho’s skin against his.

Changmin writes _i love you_ into the screen of his phone and keeps it in draft. It’s nearly as good as a post-it.

It’s never as good as the truth.

_“I’m Jung Yunho.”_

_“Shim Changmin, nice to meet you.”_

Changmin replays the conversation inside his head, thousands of times and in the parallel universe where Shim Changmin sings love songs instead of writing them, he says ‘ _excuse me but I like your smile_ ’ to Yunho and their story starts from page one until the world runs out of ink and paper.

_“I’m Jung Yunho.”_

_“Shim Changmin, and I love you.”_

_“I love you too, Shim Changmin.”_

His parallel universe is perfect. Changmin isn’t.

.

**SATURDAY**

The radio plays love songs and dance numbers, something far removed from the clarity of Yunho’s voice and Changmin sits in the kitchen with a cooling cup of mint tea. Early morning sun paints pastels over the contours of his mother’s face and he watches her hums along to a song, hands deftly handling their breakfast to the beat of the music.

“Feeling better?” she asks as she places a plate of fried rice in front of him, the sunny-side up egg looking almost offensively cheerful. Her palm spreads gentle and cool against his forehead. “We can go to the doctor if you want.”

Changmin shakes his head. “It’s okay.”

She leans away, nudges the pot of tea towards him as she unties the apron wound around her waist in quick, practised movements. “I’m going out for a while. Do you want anything?”

“Not really.” He catches her eyes for a second and the flickers of concern he sees are enough to make him smile in earnest. “Thanks, Mum.”

Changmin sighs when his mother is gone, the click of the front door resounds loudly inside the empty house. He rests his head on the kitchen counter, doesn’t really feel like doing anything because his mind is crowded with words that he can’t write down on post-its and leave in books anymore. It’s no longer enough and Changmin doesn’t know how to change the habit of a lifetime. A series of chimes ring through the house, telling him someone’s at the door and he’s deciding if he should pretend he’s not home when Siwon’s ‘ _hello'_ s cut through inches of wood and concrete.

He heaves a sigh and drags himself off.

“What are you guys doing here?” Changmin leans against the doorframe and squints at Siwon and Heechul, who are dressed much too nicely for a regular day out. “Are you going somewhere?”

Siwon shoots an exasperated look at Heechul’s general direction. “I thought I told you to text him.”

“He’s here, isn’t he.” Heechul shrugs, doesn’t really look apologetic even under the brunt of Siwon’s disapproval. He turns to Changmin and grins. “C’mon. We're going to a group blind date and you’re our lucky number three. Kyuhyun and Minho are already waiting at the cafe.”

Changmin’s head is spinning from the sudden onslaught of information and he doesn’t really know what to feel when he asked, voice surprisingly steady, “Blind date?”

Heechul nods. “Yeah. Good thing my girlfriend’s hooking us up with juniors from her volleyball team. I’ve got a bet riding on preacher boy here getting rejected by every single one of them.”

Changmin exhales shakily and it _hurts_.

“Hey, you okay?” Siwon scrunches his eyebrows in concern and reaches out to place a hand on Changmin’s shoulder. Steadying him perhaps, because Changmin feels as though the world is spinning under his feet. “You still have that fever?”

Changmin nods, clutches at the door frame just to satisfy the need to grasp at something solid. “Is Yunho-hyung coming too?”

“Nah. Said he’s practising for a dance competition.” Heechul rolls his eyes and thumbs at his phone, frowning at it as if the sheer force of his will can conjure Yunho in front of them. “He sounded pretty upset when I called.”

Siwon shrugs, unconcerned by Yunho’s absence. “We’re gonna be late if we don’t start moving. You coming?”

Changmin hesitates and after a few seconds, slowly shakes his head. “I... don’t think I’m up for it, sorry. Is it okay if I sit this one out?”

Siwon looks mildly disappointed, but Heechul pats Changmin’s head and smiles. “Don’t worry. You just get better soon, yeah?”

“Yeah. Thanks, hyung.”

He closes the door as soon as Siwon and Heechul walk across the street and it takes him ten minutes to change out of his pajamas, twenty until he’s standing in front of the school gates, gasping for breath. Changmin tells the guard that he'd forgotten an important homework, somewhere under his table and tries to look as pathetic as possible. It helps that he still has a slight fever, dry coughs adding a slight tinge of desperation to his plea and he soon finds himself running through empty hallways, lungs burning in protest and legs threatening to buckle underneath him. It feels as if he’s thrown into another dimension, lost in a maze of bricks and spiralling hopes, running against time.

He stops in front of the music room and nearly collapsed in relief when he sees Yunho standing alone in the middle of the room, a book in his hand and his face upturned towards the door, towards Changmin.

Changmin’s world tilts into focus once again.

“I thought you and—” Changmin exhales, digs fingers into the doorframe because he can’t trust his legs to hold on much longer. “You and Heechul-hyung, I thought—”

“He’s my best friend,” Yunho states, his voice flat over the silence. He must’ve read between the lines and Changmin flushes with embarrassment. “And he has a girlfriend.”

Changmin nods, feels like an idiot because he could’ve asked. Should’ve asked. “I know. They— I found out today. Hyung, I—”

Yunho’s face is impassive when he cuts in and the distance between them expands. “Changmin, what are you doing here?”

“Hyung, please listen to me.” He takes one step, two steps closer. But the distance doesn’t seem to shrink and Changmin is afraid to reach out only to find Yunho beyond his grasp. “Just— Just let me explain.”

It doesn’t feel right to look at Yunho and doesn’t see the smile Changmin associates him with, the smile that makes Changmin want to grab him and run away from the world itself. Yunho shakes his head, excruciating slow motion that slices deep and Changmin can’t find the words to convince Yunho to stay, please just stay and _listen_. They stare at each other in deadlocked silence until Yunho’s phone chimes loudly and Changmin finally remembers that a world outside of Changmin-and-Yunho exists.

“I’m late for practice,” Yunho says after a second and he picks his bag up, walks over to the door where Changmin hovers uncertainly. He pauses, doesn’t look at Changmin when he slips something into the clasp of Changmin’s fingers.

Yunho doesn’t say goodbye.

Changmin finds himself looking at the post-it he'd left inside the music book, slightly creased but his words stand out bold and hopeful. He sees ink of a different colour seeping through the thin surface and flips the post-it to find a handwriting not his own scrawled over the tiny expanse of paper.

_han river, midnight_

Changmin leans against the wall and finally allows his legs to give out underneath him, the oxygen to rush into his lungs.

.

**SUNDAY**

It’s fifteen minutes past midnight, streetlights sweeping sickly yellow paint over the grey pavement as the city lulls into a façade of tranquil and calm. Changmin locks the door when he sneaks out, eases his way across the neighbourhood and finds a taxi that will take him to the Han River, its driver a balding man who asks too many questions and doesn’t give him the correct change when they get there. He doesn’t notice, to be honest because his mind is crowded in thousands of questions and _what if_ s, millions of insecurities and doubts.

Changmin smooths his fingers over the post-it in his pocket, seeking reassurance.

“You’re late,” he hears Yunho’s voice before he sees the other boy, leaning over the handlebars of his bicycle. Yunho pulls his beanie over his forehead, until it reaches the top of his glasses. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Changmin shifts on his feet and waits until Yunho locks the bicycle to lamppost. “It’s not like I don’t want to be here but… why Han River?”

“Why not.” Yunho spreads his hands in front of him, as if he’s embracing the stretch of scenery before them. As if he wants to keep them close to his heart, to never let go and when Changmin stares at Yunho, Changmin maybe understands the feeling. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

Changmin nods, still unsure where the conversation is heading.

“I’ve never asked anyone here before.” The bridge looms above them, shadows clinging to concrete and Changmin catches the residual shine of Yunho’s smile between his fingertips. He’s somewhere between falling and flying, can never tell when Yunho is around.

“But you asked me?”

Yunho stares at him from beneath soot-black lashes, quiet expectation between the creases of his smile.

“You asked— _me_.” The realisation dawns slow and surreal and he takes a step closer, heart pounding. “Hyung, _you_ asked _me_.”

“If you’re going to reject me again—”

Changmin blinks and impulsively grabs Yunho’s forearm, feels muscles and skin shifting under his fingers. “I didn’t reject you.”

Yunho tilts his head to a side and his smile turns bittersweet. “Doesn’t feel like it before. Left me in the rain too.”

“I wasn’t rejecting you!” Changmin splutters, reels of memories from days before flashing through his head. “It was— I panicked and I didn’t—”

Changmin is slightly surprised when Yunho leans into him, chin digging into his shoulder. He hears muffled laughter and feels the brush of warm air over the back of his ear, tingles coursing under his skin. “What’s so funny?”

“You’re cute when you’re all worked up. I was just kidding.” Yunho lifts his head for a second and Changmin realises too late that he misses the weight and warmth of Yunho against him. “You have the perfect height for leaning.”

“You’re too cruel, hyung.” Changmin feels relief floods through his veins, replaced by embarrassment seconds after but Yunho is smiling and this is it. He can write about this, carved deep into the marrow of his bones. “As long as you only lean on me, I’ll forgive you.”

Yunho laughs, presses his whole face against Changmin’s shoulder. Changmin grins and threads his fingers with Yunho’s, heart leaping to his throat when Yunho lightly squeezes back.

They sit on the bench overlooking the Han River, wrapped in scarves and warm touches, as the night wears on in a languid trickle of small comforts. His watch reads three am when Changmin finds his cell phone and opens the draft folder of his text messages.

He steals a glance at Yunho, the soft curves of his smile and moonlight in his eyes.

Changmin finds the message. And presses _send_.

  
.

**end**

.


End file.
